


the lovers, reversed

by aradian_nights



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Padmé Amidala Lives, Padmé Tries To Kill Anakin, everyone is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-19
Updated: 2020-06-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:20:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,127
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24796843
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aradian_nights/pseuds/aradian_nights
Summary: Padmé is not surprised when Obi-Wan tells her what happened to Anakin. Instead, she feels it is her responsibility to destroy what he has become.
Relationships: Obi-Wan Kenobi & Anakin Skywalker, Padmé Amidala & Bail Organa, Padmé Amidala & Obi-Wan Kenobi, Padmé Amidala/Anakin Skywalker
Comments: 13
Kudos: 104





	the lovers, reversed

**Author's Note:**

> yeah padmé tries to kill anakin we've seen it before, i just wanted to do it for fun because my brain is jelly. this is actually as close to canon as possible with the obvious changes, think of it as a kind of rots rewrite. have fun!

Since returning from the senate, she'd felt sick. The day was dwindling, and purplish sunlight splashed over her study and illuminated the categorized stacks of notes, handwritten speeches, half-written treatises, and various ramblings that had kept her up at night. Her datapad, filled with horror after horror, weighed heavily in her hands, and after a while she'd tossed it aside and found herself staring out her window with burning eyes.

Everything she'd fought for, everything she'd ever believed in, was gone in an instant. The devastation she felt left her rather numb, and the realization that the world her child would be born into would be a much darker one than she could ever imagine made her tremble.

She would continue to fight, of course, on the senate floor, but fear gripped her tighter than it ever had before. Her life had never meant much to her, but now she had more than her life to worry about.

Worse was the news coming out about the Jedi. She'd spent her afternoon scouring holonet for information about the alleged coup, but hardly any source could give a solid account about how it had happened. Her journalist friends had replied to her nearly immediately, only to ask her what _she_ knew about the Jedi plot to overthrow Palpatine, and that had only confused her more.

What she did know was that the remaining Jedi would be hunted down and killed. Palpatine had been very clear about that. And Anakin had not contacted her since the night before.

Padmé had already began stuffing a bag full of clothes. She'd tried to imagine where she might end up, so she packed sturdy olive green trousers, handfuls of underclothes, breathable high-collared shirts, and a few light dresses that were decorated only with some delicate embroidery. Half her wardrobe was strewn across her floor, and she trotted upon beaded chemises and lavender lace nightgowns and heavy velour cloaks. She weighed gold bracelets in her palms and wrapped a red satin scarf around them, thinking they'd be easily pawned off.

Part of her wondered if she should call her sister or her mother, but the thought of putting them in danger made her feel ill, so she merely continued to tear through her closets like a woman possessed.

When the alarm went off, she felt eerily calm. She stood in her room, amongst her Birrenese silks and Chandrillan finery. It was easy to imagine that this intruder had come to kill her, that somehow they knew that she harbored sympathy for the Jedi, and that she was one packed bag away from turning her back on the Republic and Palpatine. It did not bother her the way it should have.

In a daze, she left her room and crossed her foyer, pausing a moment to take in the stillness of the sitting room. Not a vase was out of place, and it seemed endlessly _wrong_ as the universe itself had turned its head into its heels and yet somehow that transformation had gone with not an explosion, but a silent dread.

She approached the veranda with apprehension, her knuckles tight over the sleeves of her robe. The evening breeze toyed with the hem of it, and it battered the war-torn hood of her old friend's cloak.

"Obi-Wan?" she gasped. She might have fainted, she was so relieved to see him, but instead she dashed across the veranda and flung her arms around him. The pain of not knowing, of fearing the worst, it loosened a knot that had gathered in her chest, and now she thought she might burst into tears.

When she hugged him, he received the hug stiffly at first. Yet as she squeezed him tighter, unable to grasp the enormity of how lucky she was to be able to embrace him, his muscles relaxed and he melted into her arms. He wrapped his arms around her very gingerly, as though he feared she, too, might fall apart at the seams.

"I can't believe this," Padmé murmured into his shoulder, her fingers gathering up the stained, singed brown wool of his robe. "You're— you're _alive_. I thought— well, it's not important right now, is it? I'm just so relieved that you're alright, Obi-Wan—"

Obi-Wan sighed against her hair, and she looked up at him. She searched his weary face, and she saw the misery in his eyes. Hesitantly, she stepped back, but her fingers would not release the man, and she clung to his arms with claw-like fingers, hungry and desperate for news.

"You aren't alright," she murmured, feeling unbearably stupid. Of _course_ he wasn't alright! He had lost everything, more than her, more than anyone. His entire way of life was being eradicated before his eyes. There was a jail cell waiting for him somewhere, or worse, a pauper's grave with his name on it, and she gripped his forearms even tighter at the thought.

"No," Obi-Wan said hoarsely. His watery blue eyes flickered from her face in a sad, anxious way. "I… I suppose I'm not."

This was unbearable. She knew that someone would come for him, though she could not be sure who. And she would face the consequences for harboring a fugitive. In her mind, it seemed impossible that the Republic would seek to destroy one of their best warriors, their most prized negotiator, but these were dangerous times, and she had already half abandoned the senate in favor of her own selfish desire to see her child born safely.

"Come in," she said, pulling him across the veranda gently. "I'll have Threepio make you some tea. You like tarine tea, don't you?"

Obi-Wan allowed himself to be pulled into her apartment silently, his brow knitting together as she led him to her couch. Threepio was more than happy to fetch some tea from her kitchen, and she smiled up at Obi-Wan encouragingly as he hesitated to sit.

"Padmé," he said tiredly, "the Republic has fallen."

Hearing it said out loud was a fresh lash upon her raw heart, and she could only blink at him.

"Well, yes," she said, not feeling entirely too sweet as she fixed him with a blank stare, "I watched my life's work crumble at the feet of a man who I personally handed all the power in the world. What else is there to do, cry about it? I'd rather drink tea and forget for a moment."

With that, she collapsed on her couch, her robe falling open and revealing the prominent roundness of her stomach. She found she did not care if Obi-Wan saw this. She was beyond caring at this point. And he did see, his eyes drawn immediately to the sizable bump, and he blinked rapidly for a few seconds before he, too, sat down.

"The Jedi Order is no more," he whispered, tearing his gaze from her stomach and focusing on his hands. He began to wring them, squeezing and releasing his fingers viciously. "I'm afraid… the future looks to be shrouded in darkness. I feel lost."

There was not much that she could say in response to that. She had no idea what the Force felt like, but she knew to trust the Jedi when they felt something, and to hear Obi-Wan say something so bleak… well, it did not bode well. She took a deep breath, hoping to quell her uneasiness, and she mustered up a smile, tight as it was.

"There is still the senate," she said, laying a hand over his twisting fingers. They stilled under her touch. "We have not lost yet, not while the senate is still alive."

Obi-Wan scoffed at that, much to her surprise, and she saw the pain that drew across his face the moment the scoff left his lips. He slipped his hands from hers, and drew his hand down his mouth and his beard. His eyes fluttered shut.

"No," he said. "No, Padmé… it's over. The Sith now rule the galaxy. It's over. It's all over."

"I don't think—" she began, not fully believing her own "thoughts," before his words settled fully between them. "Wait a moment— the _Sith_? What do you mean, the Sith?"

He pushed his hood back with shaky hands, just as Threepio hurried in with a tray. He did not seem to notice the tension in the air, as he began to spout some otherwise fascinating facts about tarine tea as Obi-Wan took a teacup and saucer and let them rest on his knee. The ribbons of steam billowed into his face as he lifted the gilded handle.

"That's quite enough, Threepio, thank you," Padmé told her droid. "Obi-Wan's been shaken up by something, so if you could leave us…?"

"Oh, of course!" Threepio, ever the gentleman, bowed his golden head, and retreated into the kitchen. She was glad he did not go into her bedroom, or else his circuits might fry at the sight of the mess.

Obi-Wan sipped his tea, not heeding the steam or the scalding temperature. He did not so much as flinch. Of course, seeing what he must have seen in the last day, she could not blame him. She wished she could understand how he was feeling, but the truth of it was that she just... couldn't.

"So," she said, "the Sith?"

He sighed. He pressed his thumbs into the dips of his teacup, and she watched him trace the ornate floral pattern painted on the porcelain. She had gotten this set on Pantora, if she recalled correctly— a gift from Riyo Chuchi. She hoped her friend was fairing well enough, with this sudden upending of all that they'd ever known. Perhaps the woman was lucky she had lost her seat in the senate.

"I do not fully understand what happened myself," Obi-Wan said. "I feel as though we have been utterly defeated."

"That does not explain how the Sith have won," she said. "I am no expert, but I… I know enough, I think, about the Sith and the dark side, and all that you've fought against. So how could the Sith now be ruling the galaxy?"

"Palpatine," Obi-Wan said heavily.

The name stuck to the top of her skull like toffee to a child's palate. It clung to her, bled behind her eyes, oozed from her pores, and she licked her teeth and thought she could taste the poison in it. _Palpatine_. A name she'd spoken power into, like a prayer, as a child queen with everything to lose. Now she felt its power resonating in her bones, and it was crushing her.

She pushed herself, arduously, to her feet. Frenzied and desperate, she dragged her feet to the sleek metal serving cart, its silver legs ending in elegant swirls, and she grasped a crystal decanter by its neck. Obi-Wan's eyes followed her movements as she plucked up the nearest glass, which was unfortunately a highly decorative champagne flute.

"Is that such a good idea, Pad—" Obi-Wan's warning was cut off with a sharp, exhausted glance. She set the glass down on the table and unstopped the decanter, pouring as much brandy as she dared before downing it. It burned a bit in her esophagus, in her chest, but she'd burn the man's name out of her mouth sooner than she'd ever speak it kindly again.

Obi-Wan sat quietly, and he bowed his head. Padmé eyed him, and then, pityingly, she held the decanter out to him.

"No," he murmured. "No, I—"

"The world is ending, Obi-Wan," she said heavily. "Have a drink."

His sigh came from deep at the back of his throat, like it may have had a sob attached to it, but it had died somewhere in his chest. He dragged his hands over his mouth, down his beard, his eyes hollow as he blinked down at his tea. Silently, he took the decanter and poured a healthy dose of the brandy into his teacup.

"May I ask what I'm drinking," he said, only after taking a sip. Padmé imagined it tasted terrible, but this was not a man who easily flinched.

"Soulean brandy."

"Ah." Obi-Wan's smile was tight and venomous, and he held the decanter up to the light. The crystals reflected the salient yellow sunset that peeked through her veranda. "Master Qui-Gon would drink this."

"Oh?" Padmé sat down beside him, cradling her empty champagne class to her clenched chest. It was not forbidden for Jedi to indulge in a drink every now and again, but Anakin did not have a taste for it, and she had not expected the pious, contrarian Qui-Gon Jinn to drink opulently. Trying to imagine the man now was difficult. Like a film had been applied over his features, and all she knew of him was the height at which he stood, tall and straight, and the length of his graying hair.

"Yes. He collected bottles of it to drink with Master Dooku, when they philosophized together. It was Dooku's favorite." With a bitter smile, Obi-Wan took another sip of his tea. "After Master Qui-Gon died, I was left with twelve bottles of Soulean brandy. I gave them all to Dooku."

Hearing Dooku's name now, in such a harmless, human way, it made her head spin. She often forgot that the man had been a Jedi, but there was some fondness behind the bitterness as Obi-Wan spoke, and she wondered what things he knew about the evil Count that she could never understand.

"I'm sorry," she whispered.

He shook his head. He let out a soft, sad chuckle that fell between his fingers as he drew a hand to his mouth. The liquid in the decanter sloshed violently.

"Please," he said, "don't. Not you, Padmé. I cannot take your pity now."

"Why?" She smiled at him tremulously. "I can tell you pity me, that you came here to warn me that my life and cause are hopeless, that I should run while I still can. You pity me because of Anakin, don't you?"

Obi-Wan's eyes fluttered closed.

"Is he dead?" Padmé felt strangely cold and empty as she spoke, impossibly calm as she watched Obi-Wan's façade crumble more and more. "Is that why?"

"Padmé…" Obi-Wan set the decanter and the teacup down. He took a deep breath before turning to face her. "Anakin has fallen to the Dark Side."

It struck her, just then, that she and this man were not so different in this moment. They had both lost their whole lives, everything they'd ever known and fought for, in a terrible sweep of destruction. Yet Padmé had felt it with words and whispers while Obi-Wan had felt it with war and weeping. The scars of this fight were deeper than her eyes could see. She'd always thought Anakin was terrible at hiding things, that it was a miracle they had not been caught, but it dawned on her that maybe he was better at hiding than any of them.

"What?" she croaked. Her throat was very dry. So were her eyes.

Obi-Wan seemed to have enough tears for them both. He pushed his fingers into his eyes, his expression strained, and she watched him fold in half as the weight of the world, and all its unhappy endings, came crashing upon his shoulders. She could not comfort him as he quaked, a man who had seemed as solid as a mountain, reduced to dust on her suede couch.

She could not comfort him, because she needed comfort herself.

When Anakin had told her that the Jedi had betrayed the Chancellor, she'd been shocked, but inclined to believe him. After all, she trusted Anakin, and she trusted Palpatine, and though it made no sense, she had felt impossibly stuck. What else could she do? What could she have done? But Anakin had come out of the destruction of the Jedi temple, an endless tragedy in her eyes, with a shaky demeanor and aggressive reassurance.

Obi-Wan did not weep loudly. His sorrow was silent, as always. When he lifted his eyes to her, they glistened dully, and with all the hollowness of a man who had lost everything, he said, "I do not know how to save him, Padmé."

With a trembling hand, she set her glass down. Her mind was moving too fast, the recognition of many months of strange behavior, of little fissures on the surface of Anakin's tough exterior, his rage bubbling through while she denied what she saw, again and again, hopelessly trying to hold him together with her hands and her words, to no avail.

She wanted to say it was impossible. That Obi-Wan could not be right, that he must have it all wrong, that Anakin could never— but she knew he could do terrible things, and he had always seemed a little afraid of himself when there were no soldiers looking to him for orders, no Council scrutinizing his every move.

 _Do you imagine_ , she'd asked one peaceful morning, her ear pressed to his chest and the beating of his heart soothing her, _that you might be happier with nothing? No war, no responsibilities? Just… to be normal?_

His flesh hand, which had been stroking her hair, had stuttered and stopped. She remembered how cold she had felt when he retracted it.

 _What does that mean?_ He'd sounded strange. Confused, bitter, and small. _Normal? I don't know what normal is, but I do know that I've had nothing before, and I'm never going back to that._

"Obi-Wan," she said, "I am going to need you to tell me very clearly what happened."

He nodded quickly, adapting to her demeanor like a chameleon. Though his eyes were empty and red-rimmed, the tears were gone, and he seemed ready to be interrogated, as willing as a guilty man with his head on a block.

"I believe," he said, "that it was the Chancellor from the start. He's always had an eye for Anakin, and I never liked it. I remember when Anakin was still just a boy, when we… well, I am not proud of that time in my life. I was mourning Qui-Gon, and Anakin, I think, was mourning the life he'd left on Tatooine, begging me day after day to go see his mother. I said no. Every time, I said no."

She knew that. Anakin had confided in her, not long after his mother's death, how he did not know if he'd ever forgive Obi-Wan for taking the Order's side over his. And she had agreed. She had thought it was grossly unfair to separate a mother and child, to leave a mother in slavery, and she had told Anakin he had every right to hold Obi-Wan responsible.

But she had kept so very quiet about her own guilt, which she had felt acutely, that she had been there too on Tatooine. She had allowed Qui-Gon Jinn to free the little slave boy so that he could trade one life of servitude for another, and she had thought that good and just, while his mother rotted there in chains. Padmé Amidala, then a queen, had not gone back to Tatooine after the whole ordeal was over to pay for Shmi Skywalker's freedom.

She had wanted to, and nearly done it, but her advisers had warned her against it.

_Free one slave, Your Majesty, and you must free them all. Where does it end?_

Fourteen and impudent, with a mask on her face and voice, she'd replied, _Then I shall free them all._

But she could not do that. All the power in the world was not all the power in the galaxy. The conflict her planet had endured with the Trade Federation had still been fresh, and everyone around her had been hard pressed to start a new feud with the Hutts. Gangsters, she had been told, do not play fair. She'd be dead before her fifteenth birthday, and all her handmaidens and advisers and teachers and family and friends, they'd all be dead too.

So she had backed down.

She had never told Anakin about that, but she was as guilty as Obi-Wan. They had both been helpless to end Shmi's suffering, no matter what they had personally wanted, because they were under the thumb of a much larger power than just their own desires.

One of the things she had always admired about Anakin was that he did not seem to notice or care that he was under someone else's thumb. He seemed to do everything in his power to spite the hand that fed him.

To a fault, she realized.

"So," Obi-Wan continued, "those days, he did not particularly like being around me, and I was… selfishly relieved when he spent his days visiting the Chancellor. The Council thought it was good for him. That he would learn patience, and politics, and politeness, and all the things that I should have been able to teach him but just… could not. Not then. I was so deep in my own sorrow, by the time I'd noticed that Sheev Palpatine seemed closer to my apprentice than I was, it was too late."

"That is not your fault, Obi-Wan."

"Yes," he said gravely, "it is. He was in my care. I was the one person he had in the world in that moment, and I was a self-pitying mess of apathy and ridicule. Of _course_ he turned to the only adult that would listen, and of course— of course Palpatine would dig his claws in him. Padmé, I let a child who I know had traumas I could not begin to understand grow reliant on a Sith Lord, and now that child is grown, and he has done evil things."

The only thing she could do in response to this was hold her forehead. She had noticed the way that Palpatine had often prioritized Anakin when they were together, the way they'd exchanged secret smiles, when he would wink at Anakin and Anakin would roll his head with a sheepish smirk of acknowledgement. All the while Padmé, a senator, would stand there feeling a bit like an outsider.

"What has he done?" she murmured.

The look Obi-Wan shot her was a little panicked, a little unsure, but mostly it was devastated. But she had to know.

"He attacked the Temple last night," he said. "He killed everyone. Even… even the younglings."

With a deep, unsteady breath, Padmè lowered her face into her hand.

They sat in silence, Obi-Wan's eyes lingering on her for a moment before they slid away. It was overwhelming, all of this information, the Sith Lord running their government, the… _grooming_ of her husband from when he was a child to become some sort of… what, a weapon? She did not know. All she knew was that Anakin Skywalker was not the man she had thought she knew. It made her feel utterly shattered, and it took all of her willpower not to throw up then and there.

With a deep, shuddering breath, she pushed her hair from her face and blinked back any tears that decided to creep into her eyes, unbidden. If this was true… if Anakin had done this, then she was on her own now.

"Will you kill him?" she asked. Saying it was as terrible as if she was uttering a curse. Saying it made her reconsider all the words she had ever spoken, all the good intentions she'd ever had, and she would turn herself into a monster from a children's nightmares if it meant she might change this story's end.

Obi-Wan did not look at her, and she wished she could scream at him. She wished that she could pin the blame on him and call that enough, because it would be so much easier than blaming herself, or worse, blaming Anakin, but that was not fair. After all, they had both been blinded by their love of Anakin and they had both denied, over and over again, the warning signs.

 _So love has blinded you?_ She remembered teasing Anakin just a few days earlier, and she wondered if perhaps Anakin was the only one among them who had not been blinded.

Laying a hand heavily on her protruding stomach, she wondered what life this baby would live. It would be one without a father, she'd already decided. If she were a smarter woman, she supposed she would finish packing her bag and depart for Naboo before sunrise.

Padmé had been told all her life that she was smart and just and wise. So beyond her years, so mature and eloquent and beautiful, a real testament to her people. Part of her had resented it, and she remembered being twenty-four and never having really taken a personal risk in her young life, and deciding she did not care about being mature or smart when it came to love. Part of the reason why she had agreed to marry Anakin was the thrill of it, and another part being that if war was impossible to avoid, then she could lose him just as fast as she'd gained him.

It seemed like a simple decision at the time. She'd liked the idea of keeping it a secret, because she had seen the way some politicians latched onto the subject of marriage, and she liked being perpetually unavailable.

Now she saw how wrong she had been, and she had the strength to regret it.

"The baby," Obi-Wan said rather than answering, "is his, isn't it? Anakin is the father?"

Her eyes flickered tiredly to his face, and she saw that he was neither surprised nor angry. He merely looked sad. It made her want to slap him.

The look she'd shot him must have been answer enough.

"I'm so sorry," he said gently.

She inhaled very sharply.

"Keep your apology," she said, "and tell me what you plan to do now. I will ask you again, Obi-Wan— will you kill him?"

His mouth opened, and then, stubbornly, it closed. She shook her head and dragged herself to her feet, one hand supporting her back and the other pushing off the soft sofa cushion.

"You won't do it."

"I will do," Obi-Wan said thickly, "what I must."

"No. You won't. You can't do it."

Obi-Wan's eyes flashed wide as he gazed up at her. "I know it is hard to hear, but—"

Padmé held up a hand, and Obi-Wan, shell-shocked and small, was silenced.

"I don't say this because I don't believe you," she said. "I just… I believe that Anakin must be having some— some sort of breakdown, or something. I think you and I, and maybe… maybe Ahsoka… we may be the only people in the whole galaxy who might be able to get through to him, if what you say is true."

"You believe he's still in there," Obi-Wan said, looking a bit relieved. "That there's still good in him?"

"Well I have not spoken to him since he apparently massacred his people," she said, a bit too coldly, "so I will have to see with my eyes how far gone he is."

"I saw the security footage…" Obi-Wan's eyes met hers somberly. "He did it, Padmé. I do not know if you or I have any influence over him any longer, and… I do not suggest you go after him."

"And you'd stop me?" Padmé arched her eyebrows at him, and she unclasped her robe and cast it aside. "We are both rather powerless at the moment, but I do not imagine you would beat me in a fight right now."

"I do not wish to fight you!" Obi-Wan jerked to his feet. "You are one of the last friends I have left, Padmé. Do not force me to watch Anakin destroy you too."

Dusk had settled across her veranda, sending shadows skittering along the expanse of her apartment. In the dim light, Obi-Wan looked much older than he was. The war had aged him. Around the eyes, around the mouth. His auburn hair was shot through with gray in places. He was only perhaps a decade older than her, and yet…

"You presume that Anakin will destroy me. I think you are wrong."

"I want to be."

"Then listen to me," she said, rounding the table to gaze down at him. "When I spoke to Anakin, he seemed… I'm not sure how to describe it, but I could tell something was off. Seeing you won't be constructive in talking to him, not if he's…"

"If he has fallen?" Obi-Wan frowned. "I cannot see a way around a fight, Padmé. You know where he is, don't you? Tell me. I will finish this, and you can have your child in peace."

"I will have my child, but I doubt it will be in peace," she said ruefully. "Obi-Wan, I know you love Anakin, but for your safety I am asking you to leave this to me."

"Are we truly arguing about who is safest from Anakin's wrath at the moment?" With a short groan, Obi-Wan hung his head back and pushed the heels of his hands into his eyes. "What has become of us?"

To say nothing was harsh, but Padmé had very little left in her in terms of sympathy. She could not give Obi-Wan the comfort he needed when she was on the brink of a full meltdown.

"Why don't you stay here?" Padmé suggested.

"You will become an enemy of the state," he sighed. "I won't endanger you like that. I'll take my leave in a moment—"

"Let me rephrase that," she said, cutting in sharply. "You will stay here, Obi-Wan, where no one will think to look for you, while I sort all this out. I will call Bail and tell him what has happened—"

"You cannot trust commlinks right now. Padmé, please—"

"Then I will go to his apartment and tell him to his face," she continued, "that you will be here, and that if anything should happen—"

"Padmé, you cannot go face Anakin alone!"

Obi-Wan jerked to his feet, his eyes sparking with an emotion other than sorrow for the first time. He looked horrified, and even more than that, terrified. For her. It was laughable. If she did not feel so sick, she may have laughed.

"And you cannot tell me what I can or cannot do," she retorted. "Sit down, Obi-Wan. Have another drink. I will handle Anakin."

"I will not let you leave on your own," he said desperately. He stepped toward, her searching her face, and she watched him without a word, knowing that between the two of them there was a nuclear disaster of emotions being repressed. "If you insist on going to him yourself, take me with you."

She had already considered that, actually, though she would not tell him so. It would be useful to have Obi-Wan, but she had been around him and Anakin enough to know how dangerous it was to allow the man to come along. There was nothing quite so volatile as Anakin and Obi-Wan at odds with one another, and she did not intend to stoke that fire.

"He'll sense you," she said.

"I can hide from him, don't you fret."

"Are you certain?" She squinted up at him, and she realized that this man did not care what she had to say, because he had already decided to come with her. "You might make things worse. What about Ahsoka?"

All at once, his brave face crumpled again, and she regretted her harshness. He averted his gaze abruptly, like it might save him from her scrutiny, and he blinked rapidly.

"I spoke to her," he said in a hoarse, quiet voice, "just before… just before the clones turned on us. She'd beaten and captured Maul and was… she was on her way back to Coruscant."

"Surely she wasn't in the Temple," she said gently. "And even if she was— Anakin would never—"

"I am not sure, as of late, that I know what Anakin would or wouldn't do." Obi-Wan cut her off softly, but his eyes sliced through her, and Padmé understood in that moment that perhaps she'd miscalculated the situation. Perhaps this would end in blood after all.

"She could still be alive. I would not give up on her just yet."

"She was on a ship with hundreds of clones," Obi-Wan said tiredly. "They turned on us. All of us. Ahsoka's not a Jedi any longer, but I do not know if they would care to see the difference.

Padmé thought on that for a minute.

"She was on a ship with hundreds of clones," she agreed, "and _Maul_."

At that, Obi-Wan's expression twisted, clearly affronted and not quite understanding what she meant.

"Yes, yes, she was quite literally surrounded by enemies. I do not want to imagine what Maul might have done to her."

 _Perhaps when he imagines the face of the devil,_ she thought. _He sees Maul._

She felt guilty for not being more sympathetic. After all, Maul's goal in life seemed to be to steal everything Obi-Wan had ever cared about from him.

"Obi-Wan," she sighed, not fully knowing how to explain her suspicion that Maul had not been part of Palpatine's grand plan, "she could be alive."

"She could be dead," he replied quietly. When she did not reply, he shook his head, looking a little desperate. "I do not know how to explain it to you… I feel as though I've lost something, like— like a limb, perhaps, and I never quite recognized how reliant I was on it, how nice it was to have it _there_ — until, suddenly, it is gone, and I and left with this phantom feeling that stretches on and on— I feel— I think it may consume me, and I am frightened. I have never felt so alone, Padmé."

And just like that, her heart broke, and it hit her that it was all really over. That Anakin had done this to the man who had half-raised him, that he had done this to Ahsoka, the girl he had half-raised, and to _her_.

She would not allow him to strike another blow. He would not have the chance to do this to their child, not today, not tomorrow, not ever.

With a short step forward, she reached up and cupped his face, lifting it up so that he would meet her eyes. She saw his tears, and she felt her own stinging somewhere where they did not belong— the bridge of her nose, the back of her throat.

"You are not alone," she told him in a thick, curt voice. "You still have me."

He lowered his head again, almost flinching from her fingers, and it occurred to her that Obi-Wan did not know how to respond to physical affection the way that Anakin did. Anakin had known his mother's love, had been hugged and kissed and coddled as a child even under the duress of slavery.

Obi-Wan had grown up believing that personal attachments were a horrible weakness. Certainly he understood the social cues and intimacies of a handshake or a hug, but that did not mean he found them comforting. Hesitantly, she let her hand fall away, and he stood before her, shrinking with every passing moment.

Then, to her surprised, he let his head fall upon her shoulder.

Relieved, and a bit exhausted, she placed a hand against the back of his neck. The truth of it was, they would both toil forever in the agony that was their love of Anakin Skywalker. She had lost him, and the democracy she had sworn her life to, and he too had lost him, and the Order he had sworn his life to. They were both now relics of an old regime, waiting for the axe to fall.

"Let me speak to him," she murmured. "I don't believe he'll hurt me."

What she would do to him, however… well, she had not made up her mind just yet.

"We'll go together."

Obi-Wan's face remained pressed into her shoulder, and she cupped the back of his head gingerly. His voice was strained and thick from the tears, and she tipped her own head back to keep her eyes as dry as possible.

"Fine," she said. "But you must _promise_ me that you will remain hidden from him. He cannot know you came with me."

"Has he been so poisoned against me?" Obi-Wan chuckled bitterly as he dragged himself away from her, his fingers hanging from the hem of her sleeve like a frightened child. "Does he know… do you think… that I love him?"

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, she thought about all the times Anakin had dismissed Obi-Wan's concerns about him, how he had always deemed Obi-Wan to be perfect and noble and the very image of what a Jedi should be. How he'd always looked at that with a bit of scorn and bitterness that only seemed to grow more and more intense as the years passed.

"Did you ever tell him that?" Padmé asked him delicately.

Rather than answering, Obi-Wan pressed his knuckles to his mouth and turned away from her.

"I'm sorry," she said. "If… if you must know, I believe that all Anakin ever wanted from you was your love and your approval."

"He had it. He always had it. He didn't know?"

_How could he?_

Of course she wanted to say that, but the man was one cruel comment from a full breakdown, and she supposed she might need him to fly the ship if something were to happen to her.

"You said it yourself," Padmé said very, very cautiously, "that you were distant. I doubt the Chancellor helped."

"He is my brother," Obi-Wan said stiffly. "I'll… I'll make this right somehow."

She did not say that now was not the time for idealism. She did not say that if all of this was true, than Anakin was too dangerous, and there was no legal system to hold him. He would become the executioner of a great, tyrannical Empire, and Padmé would not allow herself to be complicit in that kind of suffering.

"Okay, Obi-Wan," she said instead.

After all, she knew how he felt.

She had Obi-Wan sit back down while she went to get changed. He denied her insistent chidings to sleep, and instead begged her to take him to Anakin. That they had no time to lose. She bit back a tearful remark that they'd already lost _everything_. What was a night?

But it was selfish, she knew. Anakin was an extension of Palpatine's hand, and right now Padmé would do anything to crush that hand and incapacitate the man she'd installed at the head of the Republic, as a token of her gratitude and a heartfelt goodbye for all of her years of service.

The clothing she chose was loose and breathable. Few adornments, a simple off-white color scheme… she looked at herself in the mirror, saw the hollowness of her eyes, and she realized she had the same lost look about her that Obi-Wan had. She grit her teeth and tossed a leather holster under her arms, latching it tight about her shoulders. A small pistol fit there, and she belted another holster to each forearm. This one was slimmer, less noticeable, and each one held a dainty dagger as thin as a needle and as long as her palm.

She tossed a large, elegant red cloak over her head, latching the front of it with nimble fingers. The ornate gold clasps were cold and sharp, and baubles— gems encased in gold cages, like wasp-nest encased eggs— tinkled like little bells. The form of the robe swallowed her, like much of her maternity wardrobe, which was perfect. It would be hard to suspect she was armed beneath all this velvet and gold.

"You look lovely," Obi-Wan said. He sounded confused.

"Thank you." She gave Threepio one of her suitcases. Obi-Wan offered out his hands silently, perhaps not wanting to seem presumptive about taking her bag from her, but also looking rather worried. As if a heavy bag was the most dangerous thing in the world right now.

"Take it if you want," she said, slinging it off her back and allowing him to grasp the braided black leather straps. She turned away from him abruptly. "They are clothes for you anyway."

Shock held him there, confused and stricken, for just a few moments before he trailed after her. He did not question why the bag was already packed, or whose clothes they were. She'd stuffed a belt in the bag sort of desperately, knowing Anakin's legs were much longer than Obi-Wan's. It was only after they were in the speeder, heading toward the hangar that held her personal ship, that she realized she would likely never see her apartment again.

"Have you thought of a new name yet?" Padmé asked conversationally, her knuckles white against the yoke of the speeder and her eyes maladjusted to the splashes of neon lights that made up Coruscant's night sky. Buildings, with their white and red and blue and green exteriors glowing blindingly all around her, towered toward the stars— stars that did not exist in the city-planet. The horizon was always tinted a sickly gray, peaking through buildings like a discolored tongue behind a gapped tooth.

"What do you mean?"

"You simply cannot be Obi-Wan Kenobi any longer," she said with a tight smile. "Surely you know that."

He sat silently beside her while Threepio looked between them uncertainly.

"No," Obi-Wan said, "I had not thought of that."

"Well, think on it. Come up with a few, it couldn't hurt. Nothing too outrageous— oh, and try not to pick a name traditional to your home planet, that will be a dead giveaway."

"Ben," Obi-Wan said suddenly.

Padmé glanced at him from the fold of her red hood, and she saw the lights of the city reflect in Obi-Wan's eyes.

"Perfect," she said. "Now pick ten more."

In the end, they settled on Ben Sundari, a name she thought Anakin might recognize if he lived to hear it, and Elia Gent, one of the various aliases she'd created at thirteen with her handmaidens. She had about two dozen different names and backstories at her disposal because of the overactive imagination of a handful of teenage girls who had been tasked with running a whole planet.

"Padmè," Obi-Wan sighed when they got to her ship, "I must insist that I fly. You should rest."

"I've rested enough." She slipped into the pilot's chair, pushing her hood back and buckling herself in. "Sit down, Obi-Wan."

He did as he was told, and it surprised her a bit, because she was so used to traveling with Anakin who… just generally did not like being bossed around, and would banter with her enthusiastically just for the fun of arguing. Once Obi-Wan was buckled in, she checked on Threepio, who seemed very confused about the whole ordeal.

" _Mustafar_?" Obi-Wan read out as she typed the coordinates into the navicomputer. "What is Anakin doing there?"

"He didn't say."

"Oh… I have a very bad feeling about this."

"I would be quite worried for you if you felt good about the situation."

Obi-Wan eyed her, and he managed to allow himself a small, uneasy chuckle. The jump to lightspeed went easier than she had expected, but she supposed the Grand Army of the Republic was rather busy with dealing with the supposed Jedi Insurgence and had no reason to question a Naboo aircraft leaving orbit and going into hyperspace.

"How are you doing this?" he whispered. "How are you holding yourself together?"

She glanced at him, and she found herself struck silent because it seemed so incredibly ludicrous to suggest that she was being held together by anything but fear and rage and pain. What she was after now was not peace, and she did not know if she would ever see a peaceful day again in her life. After all, she'd devoted that life to peace, and that life had turned around and pushed her face into the ground and spat on her.

"Holding myself together?" she repeated dazedly. "You think so? I feel like I must be going insane."

She would allow herself to mourn the life she'd had when she felt that it was safe to. For now, the only thing she could possibly do was keep her mind on the task at hand and pray to any deity that would listen that she made it out of this alive. Part of her wondered if she should have been more skeptical of Obi-Wan's claim that Anakin had betrayed them all at the whim of Palpatine, but hindsight was a horrible thing, and she could not shake the nagging feeling that Anakin had always been just a hair's breadth away from snapping.

It had been foolish optimism to think that he might confide in her all the misgivings he had. Now she had to sever all the ties she had to him, emotionally and physically, just to keep her legs moving.

"You hide it admirably," Obi-Wan said after a few moments of silence. "I'm sorry for assuming. You are just… very strong, and I envy your conviction."

"Is this what strength is?" she asked with a small, bitter laugh. "The destruction of everything I ever fought for leading me to my absolute wit's end? I'm tired, Obi-Wan. I don't know what else to do."

"You do not have to face him. I can do it, if it—"

"No." She took a deep breath, and she relaxed the tension in her shoulders. "No, it must be me. If I can count on Anakin for anything, it is his love of me. I just hope that is enough."

Obi-Wan leaned back, plucking anxiously at the end of his beard while she sank lower into her chair. Perhaps he was thinking that he had felt the same, until very recently. Counting on love was not enough. It hurt her more than she could really properly process, how much she still believed that Anakin loved her.

It would be so much easier if he didn't.

"What will you do?" he asked her after a short period of silence. "If Anakin does not listen to you, what will you do then?"

"Let me handle the negotiations," she sighed. _Aggressive,_ she thought, _or otherwise_.

"Negotiations have never been Anakin's strong suit." It sounded almost like a joke, but neither of them laughed. "I meant about the baby."

"Well, I won't be the first woman to raise a child by herself," Padmé said. "I haven't really thought too hard about it yet, but I'll manage."

"I… wish I'd known sooner. I feel that I could have helped, somehow."

Padmé remembered how many times she'd pestered Anakin about letting Obi-Wan in on their relationship, and his insistence that she did not know Obi-Wan like he did. It was frustrating, knowing she'd been right but had not fought harder for it. Maybe Obi-Wan's intervention and help would have made all the difference.

"There's nothing you could have done," she said, hoping to spare his feelings. "We made this mess ourselves."

"I knew about the two of you," he admitted. "For a long time know, I've known, but I thought… well, in my mind, I did not imagine you two might have a child. I thought it was a sort of mutual understanding that… though you loved each other, things could not be."

"You thought Anakin and I had what you and Satine had. Oh, yes, I know about that, don't give me that look, Obi-Wan, Anakin and I were _married_. He told me everything." She paused, and suppressed a groan as she hung her head back tiredly. "At least I thought he did."

" _Married_?"

"Yes. Married."

"For how long?"

"The start of the Clone Wars?" She could hear the stress in his voice. It was difficult to listen to, as she could sense him beginning to unravel the truth that Anakin truly had not trusted him at all. "Not long after Geonosis."

"But— why, he was still a Padawan!"

She grimaced at that. Not her finest hour.

"He was."

"Padmé, he was nineteen, that's—" He blinked rapidly. "Oh, that explains so much. But— nineteen? You went along with this?"

"I was scared we might die at any moment," she admitted. "We'd almost died together already, and… I was scared, and angry, I think, that a war was starting, and I had no control over anything. But I had control over this. I thought it would be alright."

"How could it be? He was a Jedi Padawan and you were a Senator! There's— I'm sorry, I do not mean to yell. This is why he did not tell me, isn't it?" Obi-Wan laughed bitterly into his hands as he hung his head back too. They both stared at the ceiling silently.

"I've wondered for a long time if it was the wrong decision," she said after a while. "I think we rushed into it, and Ani disagreed—"

"Of course he did," Obi-Wan muttered.

"— but the damage was already done."

"And now you have a child," Obi-Wan said, "and that child is Anakin's…"

"Yes."

"Do you… did you decide on a name…?" Obi-Wan glanced at her nervously, and she saw in his watery eyes that he feared he was mis-stepping.

"We agreed that I could name it if it is a boy," she sighed, "and Ani would name it if it is a girl."

"You don't know?" Obi-Wan sounded surprised. "Your doctor did not tell you?"

"I haven't been to a doctor, so—"

"Padmé!"

"It's fine!" She waved him off. "I'm perfectly healthy! I had everything in order to give birth at home, so no one would—"

"I think a baby is a little more difficult to hide than a marriage, Padmé! How did you think that would work?"

"Lie about adoption?" she said weakly.

"You are the smartest person I know," he replied, "and yet I can see why you and Anakin got on so well. That is truly the most outrageous thing I've heard all week, and I watched Anakin bow before the Chancellor and call him 'my lord.'"

That was rather harsh, but not unwarranted, so Padmé merely pursed her lips and looked away. It was not as if it mattered anymore. There was no Jedi Order to keep the secret from now. Just an Empire that she had helped create, and thousands of corpses of a peace-keeping people littered across the galaxy.

"I'm sorry."

"Will you _please_ cut that out?"

"What? Sorry?"

"Again!" She sighed, hoping she was not hurting his feelings. Not that he seemed to care about hers at the moment. "Stop apologizing to me, Obi-Wan. I do not need your apologies, I need you to be with me no matter what as we go forward. Understand?"

"I do," he said. "I _am_. With you, I mean. I will do… whatever I can for you, and for…" His eyes did not flicker to her stomach, because he was too polite for that, so instead he just pushed a knuckle against his lips and looked away.

"Luke," she said, "if it's a boy. Leia if it's a girl."

"What do you think it will be?"

Her hand settled on her stomach, and she thought for a moment.

"Boy," she said. "What do you think?"

"Oh," he murmured, "I don't know. Girl, I suppose."

She couldn't help but smile, and she felt sad when she realized she was doing it, like the ghost of her former self was laughing somewhere.

"You and Anakin," she sighed. "Well, maybe you're right."

"I would like to be there for the child," he said quietly, "regardless. If… if that is alright with you."

If it was alright with her? As though she had a lot of options at the moment.

"Do not feel guilty for wanting to be a part of this child's life, Obi-Wan," she said very gently. "You would have been like an uncle to it either way."

"Oh."

They fell silent after that, watching the odd blue rings of hyperspace with tired eyes. Eventually, Obi-Wan nodded off, and she relaxed a little bit. It was better if he slept through this. If she could have slept through it, she would too. But this was something she had to do. It was her responsibility to either tame the beast that Palpatine created, or destroy it before it grew.

There was no way to enter the atmosphere of any planet gently, but she did her best. Once they were out of hyperspace and she found Obi-Wan was still sleeping, she leveled out her ship and began the descent into Mustafar's blackened clouds, the volcanic ash clinging to the edges of the windows. The crust of the planet was splitting open, glowing orange fissures growing wider and wider as she eased her ship onto a landing strip.

She took a moment, after shutting it all down, to rest her head in her hands. Everything had happened so quickly, and now she had to mourn the life she'd had while simultaneously killing it in the cradle.

It was something she would deal with later, she decided. For now, the truth waited for her.

Glancing one last time at the slumbering Obi-Wan, she pulled her hood over her head and breezed past Threepio.

"If I'm not back in ten minutes," she told him, "please wake Obi-Wan up."

That was all she could say to him. Threepio was perhaps her closest companion, and knew all her secrets, yet he was Anakin's gift to her. Anakin's creation. The creation of a small, precocious child who just wanted to _help_. It was hard to look at Threepio now, knowing what she knew, and see him as anything but a walking tragedy.

If they lived to open their eyes, she hopped she did not see her child the same way.

The air on Mustafar was breathable, but just barely. It was noxious, like standing too close to a campfire, and she pulled the edge of her hood over her mouth as she descended the ramp. The hem of her cloak trailed after her, gathering soot along its lining as she moved. She hesitated for a moment when her eyes raked across the expanse of the landing strip, and she saw her husband's hazy silhouette appear from the smog.

"Padmé!" Suddenly he was rushing toward her, and she did not have time to think before she was scooped up in his arms.

It was warm and inviting and _familiar_ , and for a moment she thought that Obi-Wan must have lied. And she, fool that she was, had _listened_. Her finger tips drew upwards shakily, tugging on the backs of his tabards as she buried her face in his chest. Why had she listened? Why hadn't she just trusted Anakin, trusted her heart and not her brain? After all, he loved her, didn't he? She knew nothing if not that.

"Padmé," he murmured into her hair, "I saw your ship— why are you—"

"I—" Her grip on him tightened. She did not want to let him go. Smothering him seemed best, did it not? She could smother him with her love and then all her problems would be solved. "Oh, Anakin… I—"

 _I cannot tell him the truth_ , she realized, her brain catching up to her heart in just a step, just a heartbeat, and causing her to buckle. _I do not know what has happened to him._

"It's alright," Anakin gasped, pulling back and taking her face in his hands. The leather glove over his prosthetic was worn, and peeling in some places. It scratched her just as much as his callused palm. "Whatever it is, it's alright. I'm here. You're safe now."

A tear hit her cheek, hard and without permission, and she ate the inside of her lips when he dashed it away with the pad of his flesh and blood thumb. His smile was genuine and just for her, but she saw the pain and horror in his eyes, and she saw how that smile stretched grotesquely thin and hollow as he gazed at her distantly.

"What are you doing here?" he asked. He did not sound confused. Nor did he sound angry, or desperate. He sounded completely blank. Like he was rehearsing words that he might put inflection in later. It was strange and uncanny.

"Oh," she said, forcing a laugh as she pulled away from him. She took a few steps back, her fingers slipping from his back and drooping as she removed herself from him. "It might sound silly."

"No. No, never. What happened? You're upset. You're sad. Why?"

"I—" She needed to be very careful with how she played this part. This was not a negotiation that could end good or bad. It was an interrogation that could end in either mercy or execution. "I was frightened, Ani. I know you said the Jedi are traitors, but—"

"They are," Anakin said, his mood turning from impassive to intimidating the moment she blinked. His features changed before her eyes, warping in disgust as though she had cursed at him.

She backtracked carefully, lifting her chin as she might in the senate, and she looked into his hollow eyes. They did not look blue. They did not look like they had any color in them at all, merely like someone had drawn all the vibrance from them.

"I know that," she said, laying her hands over her heart so he could see them empty. "But you are still a known Jedi. I have worked with the Jedi publicly for many, many years, and if any senator was in danger of scrutiny in this moment of uncertainty, it's me. Anakin, I do not know if I can stay a senator— if I can stay on Coruscant any longer!"

"You won't have to," he said, as though it were the simplest thing.

"What?"

"I have become more powerful than any Jedi," Anakin said, not eagerly, not passionately, just as matter-of-factly as though he were telling her the time of day and that the sun would set soon. "I will overthrow the Chancellor, and together you and I shall rule over the galaxy—"

" _What_?"

She was lucky he was not listening to her, because she dropped her composure in that instant. Not only was what Obi-Wan said about the slaughter of the Jedi true, but Anakin had possibly just lost his mind completely. The more she looked at him, the more she saw it. He was not looking at her at all. He seemed drunk on something, teetering on the edge of his words, like they meant something, like they were weapons in themselves.

They hurt as much as any weapon, she would give him that.

"— Our child, our heir, will want for nothing. I will make her the happiest child in the galaxy. She will know nothing but love and laughter, and the world will bow at her feet and kiss the ground she walks on, and one day call her Empress—"

"Pretty words," Padmé said smoothly, swallowing her shock as her dagger slipped into her palm. It was hidden by the enormous weight of her velvet sleeve. "And you're certain? You believe you can overthrow the Chancellor?"

Anakin's brow knitted together, and his posture boxed up defensively.

"I am more powerful than him!" he declared, his eyes shadowing over and his expression growing taut. "You doubt me? After all that I've done for you? No matter. When I save you, then you will see. You will thank me for all of this, and more."

"Of course," she said. "Yes, of course. You're so powerful, Anakin. The most powerful man in the world."

"The most powerful man who ever lived," he corrected her.

"Yes." She stepped forward. All her dread and horror were knotted tightly in the pit of her chest, and it churned inside her, spitting and aflame like the magma beneath her had sunken into her ribs. "And what is power? Just a tool. You've always used it well, haven't you?"

"Power is the thing that will save you," Anakin said, and for the first time she heard real emotion seeping into his voice. Pain, she thought, or maybe fear. He sounded small as she reached out and stroked his cheek. He leaned into it. "I had to become this. Don't you see? I've done this all for you."

"And I thank you," she whispered, searching his face for any other sign that this was the man she'd fallen in love with.

Truth be told, she had seen plenty of signs, but it did not matter. She could ignore them as easily as she'd ignored the signs that this monster had been in the man she'd loved all along.

"Padmé," he whispered, lowering his head so his forehead brushed hers. "I did it all for you… I did it all for you…"

"Yes," she sighed, pushing his hair back and smiling shakily. There were tears stinging her eyes. "I know. I love you, Anakin. I'll always love you."

She hooked her hand behind his head and pulled it down to kiss him. It was very gentle, as precious as a last kiss could be, and she mourned him as she drew her other hand behind his back and angled her blade over his heart. After all, she'd been molded into a killer long before he had, and killing one more man for the safety of not only her people, but all people… it was just another man, in the end.

And in the end, her tears betrayed her.

His eyes, which had closed the instant she'd pulled him into the kiss, snapped open. They were not vibrant blue, not hollow and dull, but instead they were glowing bright, blazing _yellow_ , like the sun had been injected into his irises. They burned her. Red, searing veins crackled along his sclera as his gaze swept from her face to her hand, and she struck without hesitation.

The point of the blade hit his back. It did not get the chance to pierce it.

Reflexes as sharp as ever, Anakin's arm flew behind him and caught her wrist. He bent it at an awkward angle, and she buckled with a cry, pain lancing up her forearm and collecting around her joints. She held on tightly to the dagger as he drew it between their faces. It glinted in the dull red glow around them.

For a moment, he merely stared at it. Then, his horrible eyes flickered to her face. They were wide with horror.

" _Why_?" he uttered, his voice broken, and all the emotions he had kept carefully boxed away swept over him all at once. He was distraught, dismayed, disjointed, and everything in-between. She wanted to fall to her knees and grasp his ankles and beg for his forgiveness.

The tears would not stop. She saw him through the flood of them, and thought he somehow still looked beautiful, even as a monster.

It disgusted her.

Everything that she had been holding back seemed to shudder and fall with a graceless collapse. Shaking her head vigorously, she laughed at him, and it came out wet and rasping. She laughed at the tears in his eyes, she laughed at the angry growl that rose in his throat, and she laughed at herself for being so blind for so long.

"Why?" she echoed him helplessly. "What about you? _Why_ , Anakin? Why did you do this?"

"You know why!" He shook her by her wrist, and she was thrown about, forward and backwards, throttled in place. "Because I love you! I want to save you!"

"Your _love_ has ruined everything!" she gasped. "I don't want it if all it will ever bring is destruction! I don't care about my life if it means living with _this_!"

"No— no!" He released her wrist and for an instant she thought she might be able to get a good swing in, but that moment was stuck in her throat. The pressure of it grew and grew, until it was a python coiling around her neck and constricting the air from her windpipe. "How could you say that? After everything— no, no, it was Obi-Wan. It must have been. You'd never betray me, but Obi-Wan... Obi-Wan's alive, isn't he?"

She was choking. He was choking her, and she thought to herself thusly:

_Oh, this is agonizing. Well played, though._

With her freed hand, she swiped at him with all her strength, and she listened to him yell as the knife tore through his cheek. It was enough to startle him, and she sank to her knees, coughing and spitting, her hand flying blindly not to her neck but to the blaster beneath her cloak.

"Anakin!"

For a split second, Anakin's attention was not on her, but on the ship behind her. She tore the blaster from her holster and took aim. The bolt was meant for his heart, and she was so close that there was no way she could have missed.

And yet.

He side-stepped the shot without even looking at her. His eyes were all for Obi-Wan, and she realized she'd lost.

"You brought him here," Anakin said, and the blaster in her hands was torn from her fingers. She was lifted off the ground by the Force, dragged by her neck, and she found herself gagging and kicking, tears fresh on her cheeks. "How could you do this to me? How could you betray me?"

"It is not she who betrayed you, Anakin!" she heard Obi-Wan cry. "Think for a moment! This is not the man you are— this is not the boy I raised you to be!"

"You poisoned her mind!" he gasped, and the edges of her vision blurred. She heard the thudding of her heart inside her skull. "You turned her against me!"

The last dagger up her sleeve loosened and slid into her palm. The tips of her feet brushed the ground.

"You have done that yourself," Obi-Wan said.

Padmé stabbed the dagger into the closest part of Anakin's body she could— which happened to be the arm extended to choke her. It sunk in deep, and she heard him scream as the pressure fell away, and she too fell away, and she knew nothing but the sound of his laughter as she dreamt of a far away field on Naboo.

* * *

The dream was very pretty. The flowers dripped from her hair like water from a cloud, and she trailed after a golden haired child with a laugh as bright as the moon. Everything was vibrant and bleeding color, the flowers in her hair, the hair on her child's head, the sky, the lake, the chiffon sleeves of her royal blue gown. Everything, everything, it was all so perfect. She would gladly stay here for a thousand years and never wake.

But she did. Eventually. She was not sure how long she had dreamed her pretty dream, but it had ended without much fuss. Perhaps it died a little more gracefully than their democracy had.

She woke to sunlight. Groggy and confused, she pulled her blanket over her face and groaned. Her eyes were sensitive, and she was blinded when she opened them. All the light was searing. She would rather sleep than bear it.

It took her a long while to fully grasp at the ends of herself and pulled herself back down to earth. The ceiling was hazy, ornate patterns swirling in the marbling, blue paint dashed along and making it look like a foaming sea was splashing above her. The window was not big, but the frame of it was pure silver, rendered in artistic spires. The floor was made of sandalwood, and the walls were adorned with geometric blue and white tapestries.

As she struggled to sit up, she heard a tiny gasp from the door. Turning her head ever so slightly, she saw a tiny wisp of a child standing there, gripping the doorframe with white knuckles.

Padmé sat there, her arms shaking as they supported her weight, and she tried to speak.

She found that she couldn't.

Instead, a strange, garbled noise fell from her lips, the grinding of her vocal chords startling her. The noise seemed to startle the child too, because she squeaked and skittered away like a frightened animal. When she was gone, Padmé laid there, alone and exhausted, and she tried to recall what had happened to her. It was all a bit of a blur.

Very carefully, she pushed back the soft, heavy blankets and she dragged her legs over the side of the bed. Her movements were stilted and sluggish, and she tried not to think too hard about it. Until, of course, her legs could not support her body, and she crashed to the sandalwood floor with a short gasp.

She was found more or less like that, after she'd given up trying to lift herself back up. A little embarrassed, but mostly grateful, she gripped Bail Organa's arm as he gently helped her to her feet.

"Good morning," her old friend said, sounding a bit bewildered as he guided her back to the bed. She sat down heavily. Her hand fell to her very flat stomach, and she frowned deeply.

"Wh— wha—" Her words were jumbled and caught behind her teeth. She was panicked and confused, horror-struck and heartbroken.

Bail blinked down at her. She noticed how tired his eyes were, how he looked older than she'd ever seen him look before, and icy dread began to trickle through her as she realized something was horribly wrong.

"What do you last remember?" he asked her delicately.

"I…" Her fingers fluttered involuntarily to her throat. The strangled sounds coming from her reminded her of a strange pressure there. Had someone choked her?

"Okay, okay," Bail said gently. He knelt before her so that they were eyelevel. "Padmé, Anakin betrayed you. Do you remember that?"

Now that it was said aloud, the nightmarish glow of yellow eyes floated from the recesses of her mind up to the top. It bobbed there tauntingly. So she did nothing but nod.

"Okay. Good. He… hurt you. It was a bit touch and go there for a while. You had to be resuscitated, and could not breathe on your own for a bit."

It felt a bit silly, not really caring that she'd basically died for a minute, but stranger things had happened to her.

"My… my vo— voice," she managed to say. Another person seemed to be speaking, someone older.

"The med-droid did the best it could," Bail sighed. "I'm sorry, but I'm sure that it will get better with time. I will do everything I can to help your rehabilitation."

It struck her all at once, the horrible recollection that she was _missing_ something. Her hand flew to her stomach, and she patted it down, feeling nothing but her boney ribs.

"No," she uttered, "no—"

"It's alright!" Bail gasped, catching her hands and forcing her to look into his eyes again. "Your children are fine. I'm sorry, I should have led with that. They're both healthy and safe, I promise."

"I—" She tore her hands from his, and found herself reeling from the information he was giving her. " _They_ …?"

"Yes." Bail smiled up at her tiredly. "You have twins, Padmé. A boy and a girl."

She sat on the bed and thought dimly that he must be joking. But as she continued to think on it, it started to make sense, and she managed a small, strangled laugh before she lowered her head in her hands and started to cry.

Bail allowed her to have this moment to herself, and she was grateful, because she was starting to realize what was happening, and it only made her feel worse. When she settled down, what felt like hours later, she gave up on speaking entirely. Instead she signed to Bail: _How long was I asleep?_

Bail's expression told her all she needed to know, and she sighed heavily before he even said it.

"Two years," he said. "It… was not easy, hiding you. I'm sorry to tell you, but you are legally dead."

That did not surprise her. Neither the length of time, nor her apparent death. She stared at her hands and nodded dully.

"Your grave is on Naboo, interred with the other monarchs— your parents made that decision, by the way, not Palpatine."

She managed to smile at that. When she had been younger, and newly elected queen, she'd often found herself wandering into the memorial for past monarchs and searching the names for a sign or a purpose. Knowing one day she'd join them had made her feel small.

There was no galactic sign for Palpatine's name, so she signed the word _chancellor_ with a tilt of her head.

"He's the Emperor now," Bail said with a grimace. "Don't think too hard on it, Padmé, it will hurt too much. And don't look at me like that, you _know_ I have not sat on my thumbs for two years. There is an outspoken faction against his rule, and I have a large hand in it."

Very eagerly, she nodded, and she sat there for a moment and thought about it. She was legally dead. Honestly, it would be a waste to not utilize that fact and actively wreak havoc upon the so-called Empire she had helped create. When she brought this up to Bail, the man looked at her with wide eyes.

"It would be very dangerous," he said.

Her hands moved quickly, growing accustomed to the signing.

 _Yes,_ she agreed. _I am not afraid to die. After all, I am already dead._

Bail chuckled at that. "Well," he said. "You have a point there. But… your children…"

Right. Her children. Two of them. This was not what she'd planned at all, but…

_Where are they now?_

At that, Bail seemed to shift uncomfortably. She could see it in his eyes, that something had happened that he was not happy with at all, and she forced herself to be calm as he sighed.

"They were separated," he said. "It… it was not my proudest moment, and I regret allowing it, but Master Yoda said it was the best thing for them."

Well if _Master Yoda_ said it, then certainly it must be true. Of course she did not voice her irritation— after all, it hardly seemed constructive at the moment, and she knew that the old Jedi probably had his reasons.

When she nodded, Bail frowned, perhaps thinking to himself that she was taking this too well. Truthfully, Padmé had stopped feeling anything after she'd cried all her feelings out, and now she was just absorbing information.

"Your son, Luke, went with Obi-Wan," Bail said.

 _Luke_ , she thought dazedly. The son she had been certain she'd have. It was strange to think that he was alive, and not only that, but two whole years old, and she'd never even seen his face.

"O—" She winced, and she took a deep breath. "Obi—"

"He's fine," Bail said. "He defeated Anakin, but… I'm not sure that he killed him."

She had suspected as much, but she decided not to say so. There was a reason why she had wanted to face Anakin alone. Between the two of them, she felt that she was much more capable of murder than Obi-Wan. He was much like Anakin in that way.

 _Fine,_ she signed. _As long as Obi-Wan and my son are safe, I don't care. My daughter?_

At that, Bail smiled. He stood up and gestured toward the door.

"I believe," he said, "you've already met her. I adopted Leia when Obi-Wan took Luke."

The little girl in the doorway. She nearly laughed, but found she couldn't, so instead she merely smiled.

"Would you like to meet her properly?" Bail asked.

Padmé could only nod, and Bail beamed at her before disappearing from the room. She took those few minutes to compose herself. Thinking too hard about what had happened would destroy her, so now she had to think of the future. A future where she would risk everything again and again to destroy this Empire, and destroy Palpatine, and, in all likelihood, destroy Anakin too.

That was no future for a child.

When Bail appeared again, he had a little girl on his hip. She had a round face and big brown eyes, her pouty lips frowning as she stared at Padmé with a curious sort of wariness. Her hair was braided behind her ears, but short wisps of it curled messily across her brow.

"Leia," Bail said, bouncing the child with a warm smile. It was the smile, really, that broke Padmé's heart. "Say hello to Padmé."

"Hi," the little girl said, staring straight into Padmé's eyes, not a hint of fear in her little face. Padmé managed to smile at her. "Why are you sad?"

"Leia," Bail gasped, glancing down at the girl in mild horror. "What have I told you about that?"

The girl merely pressed her lips together, her eyes swiveling away from both Bail's face and Padmé's face.

"Dunno," she said cheekily.

"Leia!"

 _It's fine,_ Padmé signed with a small smile.

"Leia, apologize to Padmé."

"Sorry," Leia said, not sounding sorry at all.

"Would you like to hold her?" Bail asked Padmé. At that, Leia looked at her, and she began to squirm in Bail's arms. "Leia, stop. Please, this is your—"

"Bail," Padmé uttered, the name very stunted and misshapen in her mouth. Both Leia and Bail froze as their eyes swiveled down at her. She merely shook her head.

Leia took this opportunity to wiggle from Bail's arms. She dropped a rather terrifying height, and Padmé jumped when her tiny feet hit the floor gently, like she'd floated down onto it, and she bolted from the room so fast that Padmé had to blink a few times.

When she was gone, Bail turned to look down at Padmé with sad eyes.

"Why don't you want her to know?" he asked. "She's your daughter. Let her know you. Let her _love_ you."

Horror and terror intermingled inside her at this statement, and she did not immediately know why she felt so repulsed by it.

Padmé sat there, and she thought about how the little girl had sensed how sad she was without even really trying.

 _It is better if she doesn't,_ she told him.

**Author's Note:**

> i felt guiltier for writing padmé drinking while pregnant than i have about killing off characters dont @ me about it lmao anyway w/e the children end up fine it's good dont worry
> 
> i may continue this someday, maybe, idk!! it was fun and i made it open ended for a reason.
> 
> if you liked this fic you might also like my disgustingly long twin swap au [how the other half lives](https://archiveofourown.org/series/609151)  
> ok bye


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